


The Beast of Winter

by linaerys



Category: BBC Merlin
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-11-21
Updated: 2008-11-21
Packaged: 2017-10-07 07:25:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/62803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/linaerys/pseuds/linaerys
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur fights a beast out of legend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Beast of Winter

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to [](http://neptuneskisses.livejournal.com/profile)[**neptuneskisses**](http://neptuneskisses.livejournal.com/) for typo-checking!  
> **Note the second added 12.13.2008:** I wrote this before the Questing Beast appeared on the show, FWIW.

On the darkest night of the year, Uther held a feast. The court was smaller in the winter, especially such a winter as this, which had started early, and come in fast, with storms that buried houses of the lower city, until Uther had to open the gates of Camelot and let the poorer folk build their hovels in the lee of the castle.

The early winter meant a smaller harvest, and leaner deer brought home when Arthur and his knights went hunting. Even in December, hungry wolves howled at Camelot's gates. Archers chased them off with bows and arrows, but empty bellies soon drew them back.

Many fixtures at the summer court traveled back to their own lands when the first snows fell. Merlin worried about his family and how they fared. The cottage he grew up in had thinner walls even than some of those in the lower city, and fewer buildings around them to protect them from the howling wind.

The feast gathered the much-reduced court in the main banquet hall. Thick tapestries had been hung and double hung in the main hall. Merlin had fixed similar tapestries in Arthur's chambers, old and faded ones hidden behind the bright and new.

Rushes lined the floor. In the chambers of royalty these were swept out every week, but in the commoner chambers, they lingered and stank through the winter. Gaius, who had ideas about cleanliness, traded on Uther's friendship for a regular supply for his workroom, and it was Merlin's unhappy task to change those as well as Arthur's. The sharp edges of the dry stalks cut his hands, and the persistent cold kept the cuts from healing, no matter how much of Gaius's greasy ointment he rubbed into them.

Tonight, however, the banquet hall was as warm as a drafty castle hall could be. The fire rose up into the chimney, casting dancing shadows across the faces of those who sat next to it.

One of these was Morgana, her pale skin burnished gold by the fire's light. One was Uther—firelight smoothed out the dangerous crags of his face and made him look years younger, if you didn't look too closely. And Arthur—the fire made his hair a golden crown, and the handsome planes of his face even more kingly. They looked like something out of a storybook, all together.

A fourth figure, a newcomer, sat in the seat of honor, closest to the king. This was the bard, a gift from King Meleagant of Wales.

"Doesn't he mind," Merlin had asked Arthur, "being given away like a sack of potatoes?"

"It's an honor," Arthur answered.

"Oh, what's that then? Like being your servant is an honor?" He dodged the affectionate cuff Arthur aimed at the back of his head and it landed instead on his shoulder.

Conn was the bard's name, and it was whispered, well out of Uther's hearing, that he had studied under Taliesin with the Druids. Even if Uther did hear those rumors, he would probably choose to keep the peace in his court by ignoring them. A bard was almost a necessity in the dark days of winter, to keep the spirits up, and keep the knights from brawling. Their numbers were reduced in the winter, and those that remained kept busy sparring with Arthur in the courtyard, and hunting with him when the weather cleared enough—but tempers grew short along with the days.

Morgana sat between Uther and Arthur. Her head bent first to one, and then the other. Uther cut her pieces of mutton from his own plate. She tilted her head toward Arthur conspiratorially, then tossed her hair and turned her attention to Uther. Arthur gave her a dark look. What did Morgana's visions show her? Merlin wondered. Would she and Arthur rule together one day? That thought gave Merlin misgivings.

Conn warmed up the crowd with songs of valor and love, but once the food was cleared away, and everyone, even the servants, provided with a cup of warm mead, he cleared his throat, and spoke in a voice of depth and majesty, "To high Heorot hall was Beowulf called." The idle chatter died down.

He told the story of Beowulf and Grendel, of slaughtered heroes and a terror in the night. He accompanied the story with a rhythmic, atonal strumming on his harp that sharpened its pace as the story grew darker. When Grendel heard the harps ring out and grew jealous, Conn made his harp sound with melody drowned out by howling. Merlin shivered, thinking of the wolves outside the walls, and monsters that not even these walls could keep out.

Conn chanted long; the fire burned down as servants forgot their tasks and thought only of the tale. When Beowulf tore Grendel's arm from his shoulder, Conn drew a wrenching jangle of strings from his harp, and Gwen grasped hard on Merlin's arm. Merlin jumped and nearly spilled his mead, but her quick fingers caught it before he had to use magic to right it.

Finally Beowulf killed the beast and the telling ended for this night. Uther started the applause with a slow clap, and it grew thunderous as others joined, echoing up to the hall's high dark ceiling. Servants, freed from the spell of the telling rushed to clear plates, stoke the fire, and help the drunken off to bed. Merlin brought Arthur a fresh cup of wine.

"What did you think?" Arthur asked. Merlin glanced at the bard and saw him drinking thirstily from a mug of beer, one hand resting on the hip of a serving woman.

"It was . . .," he lowered his voice, "magical."

Uther heard him anyway, and said to Merlin with real good cheer, "I think this is the sort of magic I can allow." Arthur made a wry face at Merlin, but said nothing.

"Shall we hear the next part?" Uther asked, when Conn had drained his beer.

"The tale has three parts; the feast has three nights," said Conn, still inclining his head forward to indicate that he would still acquiesce to whatever Uther desired.

"Right you are," said Uther. "Tomorrow then?" A cheer sounded from the assembled court.

Some heads nodded on drink-sodden heads, and some squabbles broke out. A few guardsmen in the lower hall took out dice and started playing. Mothers gathered children up, and husbands linked arms with wives, some pleased to go, others looking back regretfully at the younger men who remained behind.

Uther stood up to take his leave and those who could stand stood with him. Arthur and Morgana left behind them, with Merlin and Gwen following after the assembly had sat again.

"I'd like to stay," said Arthur, once Merlin caught up with his long strides. "But father is right—the men need some time to celebrate not under the eyes of their commander." Merlin raised his eyebrows. "Merlin, fetch some more wine from the hall. You can keep me company for a while."

Merlin did as he was told and returned with a flagon of hot, spiced mead. He poured Arthur a cup; the smell of honeyed summer rose with the steam. "Well, go on, you have some too."

"I think I've had enough," said Merlin.

"Nonsense, I'm your prince. If I say you shall have some, you shall have some." He put his feet up on the table and almost toppled over.

"Of course, your highness." Merlin grinned and poured himself a glass. It tasted just as sweet as the first, and warmed his throat going down.

"Do you think it's still possible? Heroes like Beowulf?"

Merlin looked at Arthur, every inch the young hero, at least when he wasn't plotting ways to get Merlin pelted with rotten vegetables. "Yes," he said, "I think that time is just beginning."

He must have stared too long at Arthur, because Arthur got a strange look on his face and turned to look at the fire. "I like to think so too," he said quietly, but with a hint of doubt. "It was a compliment to my father, you know."

"What? The bard?"

"The tale. Beowulf. At the end Beowulf kills the dragon and is killed by him."

"Don't spoil it," said Merlin plaintively.

"You didn't know the end of Beowulf?" Arthur rolled his eyes. "Well. Now you do. Anyway, it's a compliment."

"But your father didn't kill the dragon, he imprisoned it."

Arthur looked at him sharply, and Merlin wondered if he was supposed to know that. He didn't want to keep all these secrets. If only he could tell Arthur.

"Yes, exactly," Arthur was saying. "He's implying that my father is a greater king than Beowulf, because he defeated the dragon."

"Huh," said Merlin intelligently. "What's that mean, then?"

Arthur poured himself another cup of wine. "Hell if I know. Meleagant wants something. They all do."

"What do they want?"

"Land, titles, protection when the Saxons come."

"Protection when Grendel comes?" Merlin asked with a wide eyed grin, trying to lighten the mood.

"Yes, that too," said Arthur. "Meleagant probably wants me to marry his ugly daughter."

Merlin grinned. "Speaking of Grendel."

Arthur grinned back. "Or its mother."

They finished the flagon of wine before Arthur wanted to go to bed. Then Merlin couldn't get Arthur's boots off and he landed on his arse trying, and they both laughed so hard Merlin could barely catch his breath to stand up and try again. Their next effort ended with Merlin collapsed half on top of Arthur in the bed.

"You're drunk," said Arthur, slurred voice coming from somewhere under Merlin's elbow.

He lifted it up for a look. "No, you're drunk," Merlin said, sounding perfectly sober to his own ears. He shifted around so he was lying more next to Arthur than on top of him. Arthur radiated heat, like his family's golden farm dog, which used to curl around Merlin on cold winter nights back in his village. It would be pleasant not to sleep alone tonight. No wonder Arthur needed so many layers of tapestry and blankets when he had to warm this big bed by himself.

"Arthur?" he asked. Arthur hadn't said anything for a few minutes, or tossed Merlin on the floor as he half expected. A wet snore came from his side of the bed. Merlin sighed and pulled himself to his feet. A quick application of magic removed Arthur's other boot, and changed him into his night clothes, and Merlin went back to his cold little cupboard.

He dreamed that night of Arthur fighting Grendel. All of Camelot's knights lay slain around him, and Arthur fought an impossible, doomed, battle against a monster three times his size. No matter how much Merlin tried, he could not send any magic to Arthur. He woke shivering, to the sound of the wind howling against the casement. Tiny spindrifts of snow that forced through the cracks whirled in the air.

It's not real, he told himself. Arthur is safe in his warm room, in his warm bed. That thought warmed Merlin as well, and he fell asleep again, thinking of Arthur's face illuminated by firelight. His bright king.

The next night the feast was smaller, and Conn started his recitation earlier. This night Grendel's mother came looking for revenge and Beowulf took the fight to her. Conn's voice was just as strong as the night before, and Grendel's mother more fearsome than the son had been, at least in Merlin's mind. Beowulf bore Arthur's face now, and Merlin imagined himself, lending the hero power, crouching undetected behind the rocks in the dank cave of Grendel's mother.

Again, applause sounded through the hall. This night Arthur stayed and diced with his men, and Merlin kept them well supplied with wine and the wooden chips they used for stakes. Arthur was an indifferent gambler, which made him popular with his men. Merlin used a little nudge, more clumsiness than magic, to force a cheater's loaded dice out into the open, and earned a look of thanks from Arthur.

There wasn't a third night of feasting.

Merlin's dreams that night were no less troubled, and he woke to the sound of screaming from the lower city, and Gaius standing over him, shaking his shoulder.

"What?" he said sleepily then sat up, made instantly awake by the look of fear in Gaius's eyes. "What is it Gaius?"

Gaius thrust a pair of britches at him and Merlin put them on. "The lower city has been attacked. We must get the wounded inside so I can treat them."

Merlin tugged on his clothes as quickly as possible and followed Gaius out into the cold, still night. It was the night of the new moon, but starlight and torchlight reflected off of drifted snow and made it light enough to see. Merlin wrapped his cloak around himself as they ran.

"Who attacked? What happened?"

"I don't know, Merlin," said Gaius. "Arthur and his soldiers are investigating it. You and I have to get the wounded inside and get them warm."

"It?" Merlin asked, but Gaius didn't answer. Instead he went to the nearest fallen body and told Merlin, "Move him inside, and then come and get another one."

Merlin didn't look too closely at the wounds. Torchlight cast odd and ominous shadows, and heavy winter clothing hid the rest of the damage. Merlin and the other servants moved the screaming ones first, then those that still moaned, and finally ones who might already be dead. The stench of whatever had done this, the black slime that clung to the wounds, kept Merlin from getting close enough.

He didn't know how long he worked. The night air was cold enough to make his hands ache, but still and windless, and eventually he warmed to his grim work. When he and the other able bodied servants were done carrying the wounded in, they formed three long rows in the great hall.

By the time Merlin brought the last of the victims in, the sky was beginning to lighten. These last, thankfully, could walk, and so they followed in Merlin's tired footsteps. Some of the patients in the hall still screamed with the agony of their injuries, while others had shrouds covering their faces. The dead.

Gaius sat slumped at one of the long tables, while Morgana and Gwen took up the work he had left, washing and binding the lesser wounds. Other serving women tore cut bandages from sheeting, while the cook's assistant stirred a pot of poultice over the embers of the great fire.

Merlin put an arm under Gaius's shoulder and helped him back to his bed, then he went back to the main hall to try to help.

In the thin winter sunlight, he could see the wounds much more clearly and wished he couldn't. The edges of the wounds were coated with a strange black slime that seemed to eat at the flesh underneath. A small girl wept when Morgana tried to clean her wound, and Merlin could see that she couldn't get all of the damaged flesh clean.

Around midday, Arthur came into the hall, looking grave. "Have any of them said anything about it?"

Merlin wiped his brow. It was gritty with ash and sweat. "Uh, no," Merlin answered.

Arthur glanced around the hall and then leaned in close to Merlin. "Keep this quiet, but I think it was some kind of magic beast. No one saw anything."

"It was dark." Merlin yawned hugely and couldn't even muster the energy to cover his mouth.

"They saw _nothing_."

Merlin didn't quite believe that an invisible beast had caused this carnage, but Gaius nodded sagely when he woke enough for Merlin to tell him.

"I have heard of such things before," he said. "During the early years of Uther's reign, a beast ravaged the countryside. We all saw the claw marks it made in its victims, but no one saw the beast itself."

"What stopped it?" Merlin asked.

"I don't know. No one knows."

"It just went away."

"And never returned until now." Gaius looked into Merlin's eyes. "I fear this. I fear it deeply."

A shiver threaded down Merlin's spine. Just then Morgana came knocking at the door. Her clothes were dirty, and her hair bound back with a stained cloth, but it was her eyes that were the most shocking, haunted and dark, rimmed with the red of exhaustion.

"They're . . ." She paused to catch her breath. "They're dying, Gaius," she said.

Gaius and Merlin ran after her, back to the great hall, and there found that Morgana had spoken right. Those with large wounds had died soon after receiving them, but now even those with superficial scratches on legs and arms grew cold and gray and passed quietly out of life. Soon anyone who had been touched by the horror in the night was dead.

Uther ordered the bodies burnt. He feared contagion and put it about that this was another plague, but all who had seen the victims knew the truth. Some dark force stalked through the night, a Grendel without a face, and killed Uther's subjects.

***

Over the days to come, they heard reports from villages further out, of a horror that had passed through, leaving adults and children alike dead of terrible wounds, coated with a blackish slime.

"I will face this beast," Arthur announced to his father after the fifth messenger had come and spoken his piece. Merlin and Gaius exchanged a look.

"It is not a beast. It is some disease." Uther looked at Gaius, an appeal for support. "See how it spreads from village to village."

"It all happened in one night, father."

"I believe your son is right," Gaius broke in. "This has all the markings of the Questing Bea—"

Uther held up his hand for silence. "It is _not_ that creature. We defeated it, you and I."

"You also defeated magic," said Arthur defiantly. "But it always returns."

"Arthur," barked Uther sternly, but Arthur looked back at him, unrepentant.

"Do not try to stop me, father," said Arthur. He let the words hang in the air, before turning on his heel and leaving the hall.

Uther looked weary, but made no move to detain him. He dismissed the rest of the court. When Gaius and Merlin returned to their chambers, Arthur was waiting there.

"Finally," he said, provoking a smile from Merlin, the first since this business began. "I need to know everything you can tell me about this . . . Questing Beast, is it?"

"There's not much to tell. It's not in any of the books. But it came to Camelot last twenty years ago. Albion was in great peril. Kingdoms warred against each other, some in open rebellion and treason against their king."

"I don't see—"

"It is a great, unnatural thing to fight a true king, Merlin," said Gaius. Merlin glanced at Arthur from under his eyelashes—the true king to come. "It upset the order of things, and this beast was the result. It was said to haunt kingdoms that were soon to rebel, as if it knew—"

"Their destiny," Merlin finished. "What made it go away?"

"The wars ended. Uther was victorious," said Gaius.

Arthur frowned. "But we're not at war now."

"Are we not?" Gaius asked with a quirk of his eyebrow. "I do not know. All I have is happenstance and coincidence, no true facts."

"Nevertheless, I must fight it," said Arthur. "I know which way it's headed. It might be invisible, but I don't think it will be difficult to track."

"One more thing," said Gaius. "Then, as now, it attacked only at the new moon. Perhaps it is strongest then."

"Then I will attack at full moon."

Merlin marveled at how matter-of-fact Arthur sounded. If there was fear there, it was buried deep.

"Merlin, you should go with him," Gaius said after Arthur had gone. "Maybe you can . . . help."

"This thing, you say it cannot be defeated?"

"No," said Gaius, "I only said it never had. Its poison is a deadly cold that freezes and then liquefies the flesh. Warmth might keep it at bay."

Warmth, thought Merlin, as he helped Arthur pack. He had been trying a small spell, just to keep his bed warm at night. It wasn't much, but maybe he could help.

He rode out a candle mark after Arthur, following the wide trail left by ten heavily laden knights on horseback. They stopped in each ravaged town to gauge the direction from which the beast had come. The way was easy to find. Branches were torn from trees in the forests between the villages, as if a monstrous creature had forced its way through, although the story in each village was the same: none had seen the creature that did this.

Merlin hoarded the quantity of food Gaius had packed for him, and slept nights in the hollows under tree-trunks, wrapped in his cloak, and used his warmth spell to keep himself and his mule from freezing. He was getting better at it, and eventually figured out how to modify it to both shield and warm, after he melted too much snow and woke wet and uncomfortable in the middle of the night.

On the afternoon before the full moon, Arthur's knights reached a huge cave. Scrapes as if from enormous claws marked its opening. Merlin drew up short and hid behind a tree.

The knights milled around the entrance of the cave, their horses whickering nervously. "Shall we go in?" Gareth asked eventually.

Arthur looked up at the battered trees, and the dark empty mouth of the cave. "No," he said. "We wait for night. Perhaps it will come out then."

Night fell quickly so soon after the solstice. Arthur's men lit no fires. Merlin tied up his mule a good distance from the cave and walked back on foot as night fell.

The wind died with the light, and all was silent. Merlin hoped the sound of his feet shifting in the creaking snow wouldn't make enough noise to alert Arthur. The knights didn't speak, but neither did they rest. Arthur paced back and forth, the closest one to the cave, as if guarding his knights, even as they were meant to guard him. Every few circuits he stopped and touched his sword and vambraces for reassurance.

The moon rose with the fall of night, a huge white orb that made the woods eerily bright. Merlin had almost fallen asleep behind the tree where he hid when he felt it, a breath of chill air on an already cold night. He peered out from his hiding place, and saw . . . nothing. The knights continued to pace and fidget, tightening straps, murmuring in low voices.

Only Arthur seemed to have noticed the change in the air. He stood stock still in the mouth of the cave, staring up at something—empty air with a menacing chill. Merlin blinked and for a moment, he could see a huge dark shape that drew light into it, the suggestion of wicked claws, but a moment later it disappeared again.

"To me," cried Arthur boldly, but too late. One knight was caught unawares, and a huge black gash bisected his torso. He slumped over dead before he could even scream. Merlin tried his warmth spell, but it seemed to fizzle out before it started, and another knight died while he watched.

The dark shadow bent toward Arthur. He held his sword up at the ready, but backed up, keeping his remaining knights behind him. He can see it, Merlin realized. Maybe he can get close enough to kill it.

Merlin focused his warmth spell on Arthur. The edges of his body took on a golden light. Merlin could see the beast better now, huge limbs and sinuous body. It shied back from the light of Merlin's spell.

Arthur took a step forward, and another. He thrust at something Merlin couldn't see, and a great cry sounded, splitting the winter air. A huge claw lashed out and sent Arthur flying, and another tore the throat from the third of Arthur's knights. Then it turned and went back into the cave, taking its chill darkness with him.

Merlin ran to where Arthur lay, bruised and shaken against the trunk of a tree. "Are you alright?"

"Merlin?" Arthur asked, looking confused. Then his eyes rolled up and closed, and his head flopped over.

"It's okay," Merlin called out. "He's just stunned. We have to get out of here."

"What of the dead?" Gareth asked.

"We must leave them," said Merlin. "That thing could come back at any minute."

They made a sad procession back out of the forest. For the first day Merlin rode double with Arthur, holding him up while his head cleared. A nasty goose egg formed on the back of his skull, and Merlin wished Gaius could look at it.

On the second day Arthur was coherent enough to ride on his own, and Merlin rode his mule instead. They stayed at an inn in one of the villages they'd passed through on the way here. A few hearty souls asked if they'd slain the beast, but most could tell from the sad countenances of the knights that the quest had been in vain.

After a glum, quiet dinner, Arthur said, "Since you're here, Merlin, you should attend me."

Arthur had the nicest room, at the peak of the roof, so the ceiling was high enough for Arthur to stand, but that was as far as the luxury went.

"Why are you here?" Arthur asked as soon as Merlin closed the door.

"Well, I didn't think you'd let me come—"

"I certainly wouldn't. You could have—" Arthur seemed to realize the volume of his voice was rising and lowered it to a harsh whisper "—you could have been killed."

Merlin crossed his arms over his chest. "So could you."

"That's my job." Arthur shook his head. "That's not the point. Why did you come?"

"I wanted to make sure you were safe." Merlin fought the urge to look at the floor and met Arthur's gaze evenly instead.

Arthur turned and paced the length of the room. "When I was fighting, I felt . . . something. Warm. Protecting." He took a deep breath. "My knights couldn't see the beast. Could you?"

Merlin felt dizzy. Arthur was treading on dangerous ground. "Glimpses," said Merlin. "Shadows."

"I saw it," said Arthur quietly. "It was horrible. I saw it, but it couldn't touch me."

"Mmmm," said Merlin. "That's good, right? That means you could kill it."

"Not if I have my knights with me. I can't protect them. I will fight it, though. At a place of _my_ choosing." He looked up at Merlin. "I swear it."

They looked at each other in silence for a moment. Then Merlin bowed his head, and asked Arthur if he needed anything more. Arthur shook his head. "Where are you sleeping?" he asked.

Merlin shrugged. "The stable, most likely."

"Sounds warm," said Arthur.

"Oh yes," said Merlin with a grin. "Warm and full of cows, chewing and snoring."

"Snoring?"

"And farting too," said Merlin. "Very cozy."

Arthur rolled his eyes. "Stay here," he said. "All my knights are two to a bed. No reason I should be cold."

"No reason," Merlin murmured, suddenly bashful. He fetched water for Arthur to wash with, and helped him comb the blood out of his hair from the cut on his scalp. Then he put out the candle and lay down next to Arthur in the dark. The moonlight cast strange shadows on the floor.

"I could use a woman," said Arthur. "After a fight . . ."

Merlin was glad the room was dark so Arthur couldn't see him blush. "Sorry I'm . . . not, then?"

Arthur chuckled. "I didn't mean _you_," he said, rolling his shoulder into Merlin's.

"Hmph. Well. That's a relief."

"Just, you know, after a battle. It's nice to remember you're still alive. Of course, it's better if you win . . ."

Merlin didn't have anything to say to that. Arthur turned over onto his stomach and sounded like he was having a fight with the pillow, molding it into the shape he wanted. "G'night," he said finally, voice muffled.

"Good night," said Merlin softly. He breathed as shallowly as he could, trying to listen to the small sounds Arthur made as he settled into sleep.

Finally Arthur's breathing deepened and evened out and he stole the blanket from Merlin. Merlin grinned and stole it back. Arthur was warm to lie next to, that much Merlin had been right about. He didn't even need his warmth spell.

It was five days before moon dark when they returned to Camelot. The mood was somber when Arthur told his father that he had faced the beast, but not killed it.

"Do you think it can be killed?" Merlin asked Gaius as they walked through the corridors afterward.

"I told you, Merlin, I don't know." He glanced sideways at Merlin. "Perhaps destiny has an answer?"

Merlin grinned and shrugged, but he could take a hint, so that night he made his way to the dragon's cave. The guards were so complacent it was the work of moments to distract them. Maybe next time he'd practice some sleeping spells on them. Probably no one would notice. It wasn't like they could do their jobs any worse than they did awake.

"Merlin," said the dragon when he approached. "You've come to ask me about the Questing Beast."

"That's . . . errr, that's right. What do you know about it?"

"The beast cannot be killed. It is a sign, nothing more."

"Gaius told me about that," said Merlin. "But there's no war now."

"It is not a sign of war, but evil, an evil in the blood. That is why your Arthur can see it."

Merlin tried to ignore the "your" thing. Focusing on that would just distract him. "But you said he was destined to be a great king."

"It is not certain," the dragon answered. "Greatness is balanced with darkness, even in the best of kings."

Merlin thought of Uther, lonely, tortured and rigid, falling too far from humanity to be a truly great king. "You mean Uther's blood?"

"Uther's, yes," said the dragon. "And Morgana's."

"Morgana's? I don't understand."

"Do you not?" asked the dragon. "I know. And the Questing Beast knows. Even if Uther does not. The beast will die when evil does." The dragon took off from its perch and flew into the depths of the cave. "And that will be never."

Merlin fell asleep turning over the dragon's words. It spoke to him in riddles, as always, but these seemed to have real meaning if only he could figure it out.

The next morning Merlin scoured Gaius's books, searching for the Questing Beast. He found it not in Gaius's bestiary, but in an old book of folktales, the kind that parents told their children to scare them into never going outside in the dark. The Questing Beast was the spawn of a princess who had attempted to seduce her own brother, and when he refused her, had him eaten alive by dogs. The beast had killed the mother who bore him, and since then ravaged the land whenever it was beset by the evils of men.

And Morgana . . . what did that mean? Merlin went back to the dragon that night.

"Morgana is Uther's daughter?" he asked. He couldn't believe it. Uther didn't treat her as a daughter. Ward, yes. Daughter, no. And under Arthur's sisterly annoyance with her was something decidedly non-sisterly.

"Uther does not know. And he would not believe it if he were told. But he lusts for her. As does his son. It is this that keeps the Questing Beast alive."

"Wow," said Merlin. "I so didn't want to know that."

"You must keep them apart," said the dragon. "The future of the realm depends on it."

_Great, another secret,_ thought Merlin as the dragon flew off again. And this one was worse than all the other ones combined. How could he keep Arthur and Morgana apart without telling either of them? And Uther . . . his mind shied away from contemplating _that_ problem. Arthur was enough to worry about.

"What do you know of Morgana's parents?" Merlin asked Gwen when they met in the kitchen the next morning. Arthur wouldn't be ready for breakfast for another hour, so he followed her up through the halls toward Morgana's chambers.

"Well," she said conspiratorially, "they say that her mother was once a paramour of Uther, and he married her off to one of his knights when she got pregnant."

Merlin tried to act surprised. "But wouldn't that make Morgana Arthur's sister?"

Gwen shook her head. "No, I think that child died. Morgana's father was her husband. She was born a year later."

"Oh, well, that's a relief." Could the dragon be wrong? Merlin thought of Arthur and Morgana, their affection and sniping. This wasn't a burden he wanted.

***

The moon was a tiny sliver in the sky when Arthur set out again. He opened the door to Merlin's cupboard when he was getting ready for bed, his nightshirt half on. Merlin was so surprised he almost fell over before he could tug the shirt over his head and check surreptitiously that his hair wasn't standing on end.

"I'm going out to fight the beast again," said Arthur. "And you're coming with me."

"I am," said Merlin. "I mean, I am?"

"Yes. You were there last time."

"So were all your knights. Are you bringing them?"

"No, just you."

"I didn't—"

"Look, you don't have to tell me, but you did something. You always do _something_." He looked suddenly into Merlin's eyes. They were a deep blue in the dark of the room. "I need you," he said.

Merlin couldn't hide a grin at that. "You know, I think maybe you do," he said.

"Well, don't get a swelled head about it." Arthur turned on his heel and Merlin ran to catch up.

They saddled up horses and rode out through one of the lesser gates in the direction from which the beast had come. "Does your father know?" Merlin whispered, just over the sound of the horses' hooves breaking the thin crust of the snow.

"Not exactly," said Arthur. "But he knows enough."

"Where do you plan to meet it?" Merlin asked.

"There's a gap between two cliffs ahead that it has to come through. You'll climb up the cliff and warn me when it comes. I'll be hidden behind the cliff and attack."

Merlin nodded. It seemed like a sound enough plan, except for the fact that the beast couldn't be killed. Maybe he could knock Arthur on the head and keep him away from this fight. Arthur wouldn't thank him but at least he would come out of this alive.

The gap was as Arthur promised; perhaps twenty paces wide, between two rock walls twice the height of a man. The creature could go another way, but this was the easiest. Arthur's plan seemed sound.

They left their horses down the wall a ways, to keep them out of the battle. "Are you scared?" Merlin asked.

"A little," Arthur admitted.

Merlin shivered. The night was too dark, too quiet for comfort. The only sounds he could hear besides his and Arthur's breathing were the clicks of branches as little breezes knocked them together.

He looked up at the cliff face—there were plenty of footholds and branches to grab onto. Now was the time.

He turned to Arthur. "I can . . ." he breathed. He reached up, his hand inches away from Arthur's face, and whispered the words of his spell—the warmth and the shield. Arthur's skin glowed golden where Merlin's hand passed over it. His eyes grew wide, but he said nothing. He nodded gravely in thanks when Merlin was done casting the spell and gave Merlin a hand up to his first foothold on the cliff.

From the top of the cliff, Merlin could see deeper into the forest, to where the light gave way and only blackness remained. He couldn't see or hear Arthur below, but he could feel him, as if some kind of tether bound them together. If he closed his eyes, he could see glimpses of what Arthur saw: cold, crisp snow, broken by their footprints, and the glow from Arthur's own hand, gripped tight around the pommel of a sword.

The night grew colder. Every few minutes Merlin checked on Arthur, but it seemed like the spell was holding. He peered into the black trees until his eyes started inventing shapes of darkness on darkness.

And then it came, like a patch of night that separated itself from the trees. As before, all Merlin could see was blackness, the suggestion of claws, and the trail it left in the tree branches that creaked and tore at its passing.

"Arthur," Merlin whispered loudly, but Arthur probably couldn't hear him. He closed his eyes, seeing again through Arthur's and thought, as loudly as he could, _Arthur, it comes._ Then he was back looking through his own eyes, and he saw the darkness clear the gap, and heard the ring of steel as Arthur drew his sword.

In the darkness, he could hardly see the battle. At one moment it seemed that Arthur had been swallowed by the thing, but then his brightness lit the snow again and the beast roared in pain. Merlin repeated the spell, and Arthur glowed so brightly that his footsteps melted deep into the snow. The beast now seemed to shy away, as if Arthur's very presence hurt it. It keened in pain, and moved what Merlin supposed was its head to and fro.

Finally Arthur made a great leap, and a horrible tearing sound filled the air. The dark beast appeared in perfect detail to Merlin for one fleeting moment: scaled like a dragon, with icy steam for breath, and eyes yellow like rotten flesh—and then it seemed to cave in upon itself, folding itself up until it faded into the ground, leaving only black slime on the snow.

Arthur stood in the gap between the stones, head bowed, sword point resting on the ground. Merlin scrambled down the cliff, tearing his hands in his haste to get back to Arthur and make sure the beast hadn't injured him.

Arthur still shone from Merlin's magic, but his face and hands were covered in the beast's gore, as was the full length of his sword, painted black instead of silver. Merlin took it gently from Arthur's hand and cleaned the slime from it with his magic, until it shone again, then slipped it back in its scabbard.

Then he lifted his hand to Arthur's face and using the same magic, erased the slime there, until Arthur's face was clean as if he had just taken a bath. Arthur's eyes were still fixed on some point on the ground, but he swayed as Merlin's magic moved over him. Finally, Merlin took Arthur's hands in his, and sluiced the last of the fight's mess from them.

He tried to let go of Arthur's hands, but Arthur held him fast. "Arthur," Merlin said. "You're . . ." He meant to say something else, like _you're done_ and _we can go home now_, but Arthur moved as quickly as if he were still in battle and pushed Merlin up against the cliff wall. The heat of Merlin's spell still clung to Arthur's body, and suddenly Merlin felt it too, the heat of battle, a gnawing urgency, energy that needed an outlet, not quite dissipated by the creature's death.

"Arthur . . ." Merlin said again, and this time Arthur cut him off with a fierce kiss, pushing their mouths hard together, teeth clicking against teeth, his lips on Merlin's sending a bolt of warmth through Merlin's stomach.

The cliff was sheer here, and Arthur pressed him against it hard enough to bruise, but here was a battle Merlin could fight, wanted to fight. He grabbed at Arthur's hair, not knowing if he meant to pull him closer or fling him away. Closer won. Arthur's hands tugged at his clothes, finding seams, gaps he could press his fingers into.

When Arthur's fingers wrapped around him, Merlin gasped, a sharp intake of breath that seemed to draw Arthur even closer until every inch of his body was pressed against Merlin's. His chain mail should have been cold in the winter air, but it was still warm from Merlin's spell.

Merlin could hardly think. He should . . . Arthur wanted something from him—he didn't know what the rules were here, only that he wanted this, that if Arthur could touch him so intimately, Merlin wanted to touch him in return. His prince _needed_ him tonight, in every way possible.

He fumbled at Arthur's waistband, undoing belt and drawstring, all the while Arthur's fingers and insistence making rational thought nearly impossible. Under Merlin's hands Arthur's stomach was taut and firm. A muscle fluttered against Merlin's palm. Then Arthur was thrusting into Merlin's fingers, his lips pressing messily against Merlin's and it was all too much: pain and pleasure, uncertainty and triumph and then the night exploded into a million pieces.

Normality returned slowly. When Merlin came to himself, he was aware of Arthur's heartbeat, blood pumping under the skin in the same rhythm as the pleasure faded away. Merlin's lips were pressed to Arthur's throat. He could smell Arthur's sweat and the steel of his hauberk, sharp in the winter air.

Merlin cleaned them both with the same magic he used on the monster's gore, with the same magic he used to clean Arthur's room when he wasn't there. Arthur was good at providing messes for Merlin to practice that skill on. He didn't mind this mess, though.

"Say nothing about this," Arthur said, breath still ragged, as Merlin pulled Arthur's disarrayed clothes and armor back to their rightful places.

"Same to you," said Merlin coolly, letting a slight glow touch the ends of his fingers.

"Do you think I'm an idiot?" asked Arthur, with the same challenging stare he'd given Merlin a million times before. Merlin would never see that expression the same way again.

He fought to hide a smile, but then relented when the challenge in Arthur's gaze turned to a pout. "You're not," he said. "And neither am I."

They trudged through the snow to find their horses on legs gone to jelly. Now that the fight—and whatever that was afterward—were over, all Merlin wanted to do was sleep.

He dozed lightly in his saddle, but woke up when they passed under the arch of Camelot's great gate. Merlin glanced sidelong at Arthur. They'd done this together, just like the dragon said. His heart felt like it wanted to burst out of his chest, and a grin threatened to break out all over his face. No wonder Arthur wanted always to be the hero, if it felt like this. Even if only Arthur could know of Merlin's part, that made him proud enough.

It was just dawn, and a few servants had started to stir, but Uther wouldn't be awake yet. "Draw me a bath, would you, Merlin?" said Arthur. "And make it hot this time." He looked at Merlin meaningfully, and Merlin couldn't decide whether to roll his eyes or grin. That was permission to use magic, Merlin would bet all of Gaius's herbs on it.

There was feasting and celebrating that night. Arthur had come up with a story that gave Merlin a portion of the credit for slaying the beast, and Merlin was invited to sit at the head table next to Arthur. Conn the bard sang lively tunes and did not try to take up the Beowulf story again. The firelight made Morgana's hair look like fine, dark wood, but Arthur talked equally with her and Merlin.

"I should have your version of the story," said Conn to Merlin when his voice was resting. "If I plan to make a song of it, I must hear all sides."

Merlin glanced at Arthur, who gave him a look that spoke volumes. "It was like he said," Merlin answered, meeting Arthur's gaze. "I distracted it, so Arthur could get the killing blow."

Conn shrugged and began a bawdy song about a lady with two knights who loved her, and the rather dirty challenges she had set for them. Morgana blushed and tried to look shocked, Uther laughed and pounded the table, and Merlin sneaked a grin at Arthur, who returned it for a second before turning and taunting Morgana for her red cheeks.

Merlin went to visit the dragon that night, after all the feasting was done, and Arthur fast asleep in his bed. "And so it begins," said the dragon, before Merlin had a chance to get a word out.

"So what begins?"

"You and Arthur. Your great destiny."

Merlin had a sinking feeling that the dragon wasn't just referring to the magic, but he didn't want to be the first to mention it. "The beast is dead—I thought it couldn't be killed?"

"It is not dead, but it will be a long while before it rises again. Perhaps not in your lifetime."

"Then that thing about Morgana . . . ?"

"It _may_ rise again. You must be vigilant."

Merlin kicked at the ground. "Look, if the beast is concerned with . . .errr . . . _sin_ . . . should I . . . ?"

The dragon laughed, and Merlin's face went so red he thought he might spontaneously combust. "Do not fret, young Merlin. You and Arthur are bound together." He fixed Merlin with far too knowing a look for Merlin's taste, but mercifully said nothing more, and flapped off toward the rear of the cavern.

Merlin could scarcely keep his eyes open on his way back to his room, but once in bed, he couldn't stop thinking. The room seemed to sparkle, and his mind kept traveling back to that moment under the eaves of the cliff: Arthur's hands, his bruising mouth that had left Merlin's lips sore and tender. And he thought of that look tonight that spoke of secrets shared, hardships endured, and perils yet to be faced together.

Merlin yawned and whispered a warming spell. He should sleep. Arthur would need him early in the morning, to wake him with breakfast and cider; Arthur's hair looked always so messy when he woke, like the world's softest haystack.

Merlin closed his eyes and the image of Arthur's drowsy morning smile accompanied him into sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> **Notes:** I wanted to incorporate some of Malory's and others' legends of Arthur into the world of the show. This had . . . predictably odd results, given the tone of the legends and the tone of the show. The Questing Beast is, to quote _Legends of Valor_ by Brendan Lehane:
>
>> _ . . . more than a mere dream. It was the loathsome spawn of a princess who had attempted to secude her own brother and, when he refused her, had the man eaten alive by dogs. Her punishment was this offspring, which roamed the world eternally, a perversie thing formed by perverse wishes._
>> 
>> And Arthur saw it because of perversity. Before he learned his mother's name -- for he was reared in secret, far from her -- he had lain with his mother's daugther, his half sister, Queen Morgause of Orkney. Morgause bore him a son, who one day would be England's downfall.
> 
> [More here.](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Questing_Beast) I took some liberties with the legend, clearly, but no more, I think, than the show itself takes.


End file.
